


What you know

by katiebuttercup



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Modern AU, pre slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-06
Updated: 2013-03-06
Packaged: 2017-12-04 12:42:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/710900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katiebuttercup/pseuds/katiebuttercup
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras knew that Grantaire was an artist but he had no idea how talented he was</p>
            </blockquote>





	What you know

Title: What you think you know

Summery: Enjolras knew that Grantaire was an artist but he had no idea how talented he was

Disclaimer: Again, not mine

Notes: AU modern day university

 

Enjolras walked past works of art every day to get to class, some were brightly coloured, a riot of colour and emotion while others were sombre, stark, black chalk against shocking whiteness. Enjolras had learned to block most of it out. It wasn’t that he didn’t like art, he did, he loved pictures of revolutionaries of old, their banners waving in the sky, defiant, and fierce even in paint.

So he barely turned his head when a new batch of paintings appeared in the foyer of the university, ready for exhibition, The university and museum worked closely together and often gave art students their first taste of publicity.

It wasn’t until his poly sci classmate Eponine stopped in front of one, staring intently at a canvas.

“It’s Grantaire’s painting.”

Enjolras paused to throw an annoyed look over his shoulder, his mind half on the text in his book ready for the debate in class. He had been focused on it all weekend and he was ready to stand up to present his views and he didn’t like being dragged fom his preperations.

“What?”

“It’s Grantaire’s paintings, look!”

Enjolras retraced his steps until he was beside Eponine and felt the breath leave his body. It was a portrait of an old man, white skin folded with age and vice. His eyes were small, beady in comparison to the dark shadows beneath them. He was dressed ina soldier’s uniform, centuries in the past and behind him were the barricades and battlefields that Enjolras had admired. On his breast medals gleamed but it was the only shining thing in the painting. The man was obviously haunted, shrunken and alonem with only his memories.

Enjolras swallowed.

He was awed by the sheer talent Grantaire displayed, he would not have believed that Grantaire could produce such work, even though he counted the artist as one of his closest friends.

He also felt uncomfortable. He and Grantaire clashed on many issues, not least Enjolras’s crusades to right every wrong, was Grantaire depicting him in his painting, a man who had fought and had found honour through fighting and in the end had ended up alone and in despair. Grantaire had often told him to look beyond his revolutions, to be wary of leaving everything behind lest he end up with nothing.

“Wow.” Eponine’s awe was clear in her voice. Enjolras could only nod. He moved to his left, there was a smaller painting of the Amis as they liked to be known, his friends smiled at him from the sketch. It was much more stark then the larger painitng, almost no colour but there was heart and warmth, all eyes were gleaming with mischeif and fun and in being young and carefree even him, he realized. He was almost at the back, head tipped back with mirth. He couldn’t recall the time or place, or maybe it was simply a product of Grantaire’s imagination, but Enjolras hoped that he had, at least once looked that way.

“Come on class is starting,” he urged, pulling Eponine away.

*

He knocked gently on Grantaire’s door in their shared dorms a few hours later, and when he heard an affirmative reply he opened the door. Grantaire was lying on his stomach, a sketch book before him and a pen, but as soon as he saw Enjolras he threw it onto the floor, shutting the book. Enjolras realized that he had never seen Grantaire draw or paint in his company or anyone elses’ and he was sorry, he wanted to watch the process of creating such beauty.

“I saw your exhibition today,”

Grantaire looked confused for a moment then his expression eased, “Oh the foyer, it’s nothing, just a couple of paintings my teacher liked,”

“They’re beautiful,” Enjolras said, “Why didn’t you tell any of us, we’d have gone to see them sooner. Are they going into the museum?”

Grantaire frowned, “Why would I tell anyone? It’s wet paint on a white canvas, it doesn’t mean anything.”

“Of course it does!”

Grantaire rolled his eyes, “Everything must be a cause for you Enjolras.”

“No it doesn’t but I won’t let you say they don’t mean anything…”

“Look Enjolras, attach whatever meaning you want on any of my crap, I don’t care, but don’t expect me to. I don’t care.”

“I think you care too much.”

His answer was the middle finger, he grabbed a book from the crap on the floor and pretended to read. Enjolras realized he was being dismissed.

“I really like your art, Grantaire. I’m glad I saw it,” he didn’t mention that if he hadn’t gone through the lobby he probably would have remained ignorant as Grantaire never shared his art.

“I’d like to see more.” It was an invitation, and he waited expectantly but there was no answer. Just as he turned, he felt something hit him square in the back. He looked down, there on the floor was Grantaire’s sketchbook.

“Knock yourself out.”

Enjolras picked it up, cradeling against his chest. He waited for Grantaire to offer to go through it with him but the dark haired man simply remained steadfastly reading.

“Thanks,” Enjolras said, wishing he had the words to thank Grantaire properly.He felt that he finally had a chance to “meet” Grantaire, rather then his drunken avatar. He couldn’t wait. And maybe he could stop being ‘the leader’ for a minute to repay him.

“There’s a couple of sketches for leaflets. They’re shit but whatever.”

“I’ll take a look,” Enjolras promised. It was the first time Grantaire had offered to do anything proactive within their group and Enjolras wasn’t about to let him wiggle out of it.

Grantaire didn’t say anything else and the silence stretched uncomfortably. Enjolras shut the door behind him and looked at the unassuming sketchbook.

His work could be left for tonight. He had something more important to look at.


End file.
